


Come Morning

by Lylanne (orphan_account)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 15:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lylanne
Summary: Day Two Prompt: Margaery Lives!Another short scene.Sansa receives a scroll calling her to an obscure Inn where Margaery is recovering.





	Come Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Day Two of Margaery Week!
> 
> Go check out the tag on Tumblr for all of the amazing creatives behind Day 1 and Day 2 💛

Rain had begun to fall along the King's Road, soaking Sansa's cape to her body, extracting violent shivers from her now and again. Only two accompanied her; her little sister, Arya, and her Maester, Wolkan. Sansa trusted Arya with all but finances, it was Wolkan who she was weary of. He was a pleasant man, if a bit dull and simple, but Sansa knew him to be a brilliant Maester; so she brought him despite her doubt.

The rain became so heavy, Sansa could no longer see the world before the hood of her cape. She pushed on, begging her horse to push through this madness. Pockets of rainfall filled divots in the gravel on their road, splashing and pooling into the wet earth.

"My Lady!" Wolkan called.

He was off a ways, shouting through the rain. Sansa attempted to look behind and meet his gaze, but the wind punched heavy into her face, and she realized too late her position on the horse was insecure.

"Ah!" She cried, feeling her scream sweep into the wind and away from alerting the others. Sansa tipped, then slid off the saddle, slamming into the freezing, muddy gravel. She felt herself cough, but all sound and feeling was utterly mute in the raging storm. Somwhere, somehow, she was aware of just one thing: a well-creased scroll pressed between her corset and shift; a promise.

...

When Sansa awoke, warmth coarsed through her skin, sinking into comfort she had only known since the re-take of Winterfell. She wanted to sink into this warmth forever and ever, low and peaceful, but it was only a temporary warmth. The cape clung still to her frame, which was shivering and slumped. They had taken rest beneath a twisted tree, tall and shielding their drenched backs. Arya sat aside Sansa, fiddling with a coin. Wolkan sat hunched, body shaking and pathetic.

"Maester," Sansa said, altering both parties of her consciousness.

Wolkan snapped up, standing and bowing to extra affect.

"Yes My Lady?"

"Are we close?"

"Yes," Arya answered, beating Wolkan to the punch, "A mile out from The King's Inn. That's what your scroll said, yes?"

Sansa nodded, sighing with relief. Only Arya knew what the scroll had revealed. Maester Wolkan came as curtisey, but Sansa trusted only her family with this knowledge. Even now she was acutely aware of how the paper pressed into her shift, reminding her of why this trek was so neccsary.

_The Lady Margaery lives. She has asked her closest ally, Sansa Stark, to The King's Inn._

Sansa should have burned the note immediately, she'd prepared the flame. But such confirmation, such news sent her into an elation topped only by reuniting with her family. She couldn't burn the note, it was a promise; like a rose, or a kiss, or a swear beneath the Gods.

"We move on." Sansa demanded, forcing herself to her feet. Arya jumped up, pocketing her coin so swift it became a blur.

She mounted her horse, breathing deep the wet air.The rain ceased to a drizzle, touching Sansa's cold cheeks delicately.

Soon.

...

The King's Inn was a solemn place. Various types sulked at tables, picking at bread and staring at half-full cups of ale. Wolkan sat at an abandoned table, coming down with a grunt and relived sigh. Arya went to call the bar-keep, and Sansa made her way to the back, heart rate beating to the center of her throat.

A door led to a narrow hall, doors sunk deep inti rotting frames, creaking as she walked along them. At the end of the hall a young boy stood, waiting. He was a commen boy, dirt contouing his gaunt face, rags of clothing hanging from a jutting collar. Sansa at once felt shame for her expensive diguise, and sunk her shoulders lower; as if privilage might rise from within her and return to the boy.

"Are you the Red Wolf?" The boy asked, eyes wide and exited.

Sansa removed her hood, allowing her braided red hair to spill over her right shoulder, "I am."

"This way," He whispered, moving to the left and down another poorly kept corridor.

He came upon an unremarkable door and knocked thrice, a michevious grin spreading along his face.

"Yes?" A man's voice. Sansa didn't know it; fear gripped her from doubt, and she pulled her hood up once more.

"The Red Wolf has Howled," The boy said, stalling some worda as recalled this secret code. He then ran from the door, disappearing befoee Sansa might have thanked him.

A Maester answered the door, his chains clattering as he did so. He was old, unrecognizable to Sansa.

"Lady Stark?"

He seemed amiable, but then, Sansa had been tricked so before. Still, the promise. She removed her cape, allowing her Tully hair and Stark face to speak for themselves.

The Maester smiled, crows feet appearing at his eyes. He opened the door wider, allowing Sansa to step in: And her heart stopped.

There she lay, sleeping and wilted, but breathing. Disregarding curtisey, she moved beside Margaery's bed, brushing the back of Margaery's hand. It was freezing.

"Her hand. It's so cold." She took an accusatory tone she hadn't entirely meant.

The Maester nodded, "It's the fever. I fear she may not make the night."

Such a disastrous possibility slammed into Sansa harder than she would've liked it to in such strange company as this new Maester.

"But," He said, Sansa's expression surely distressing him to assure, "If she does, I can promise she will live."

Sansa looked then to Margaery's face. Half wrapped in bandage and the other blank with sleep. She would make it. She had to.

"My Lady, shall I leave you?"

"Will she require anything else of you?" Sansa asked.

"She is for the Gods now, My Lady."

"Then yes. My sister is in the dining hall with my Maester. Tell only her of where I am, and that I will stay the night."

He nodded, and only as his steps drifted down the hall did Sansa realise she had not asked his name.

...

Night fell slowly, moonlight stretching across Margaery, illuminating bandage and burns. Sansa ached to make them go away, to take Margaery far from this Inn, but she remained content beside her. Margaery's breath had grown weaker, her chest falling too softly to sustain consistant air flow.

_Do not go._

Sansa pleaded.

_By all the Gods, old and new, foreign and not, I beg you to stay._

She held Margaery's hand, so cold and delicate.

_Do not go._

_Do not make me walk a world where you are not._

Sansa would wait the night, speaking aloud to Margaery, to the Gods, to herself.

She kissed Margaery's hand, "Stay. I love you. I've loved you longer than I've let myself know. I've loved you since my princes became monsters and my pack became one. I've loved you since I've loved the rose, even if I did not know it. I've loved you so long in the quiet, so long alone, that I could not bare to never love you aloud. I beg you to stay, Margaery, stay-," She could not stop her tears. Sansa was embarrassed to cry, ashamed to weep so easily. But she alowed her doubt to wash with her tears, her prayers to carry down her cheeks onto Margaery's hand clasped in her own.

_Stay_

_Stay_

_Stay_

_Stay_

_Sta-_

She drifted, repeating, demanding.

_Stay._

_..._

Sansa awoke, head pounding and eyes rusted with dried tears. She shot up, desperate for a sign.

At first, Margaery was dtill. Lifeless, hopeless. Sansa wanted to scream, to curse every God and then herself.

Then, as if sheer will by Sansa's own heart, Margaery's chest moved up, then down. Up, down.

She made it.

She lived.

  
  
  
  



End file.
